


John Sheppard, (not exactly) Cowboy Cop

by coolbreeze1



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-19
Updated: 2011-10-19
Packaged: 2017-10-24 18:55:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/266738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coolbreeze1/pseuds/coolbreeze1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John and Rodney pose as farmers to catch a nasty character.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John Sheppard, (not exactly) Cowboy Cop

**Author's Note:**

> This is the entry for the "embarrassment" square on my H/C Bingo Card. I really had a hard time coming up with an idea for this, and the writing of it did not come easily or naturally! Thanks to my beta, everybetty!

It wasn’t just the cowboy hat that made him feel like John Wayne. Or the dusty brown slacks and boots. Nope. At that exact moment, it was the dried out tumbleweed blowing across the dirt in front of him, riding a hot wind. The mountains in the distance shimmered in the haze, spots of green vegetation still clinging to life. The tumbleweed bounced across the churned up rows of dirt until it caught against a wood post fence.

Okay, not a tumbleweed, exactly. Alien tumbleweed, on a alien planet. Much farther than the farthest Far West any cowboy could imagine. John dragged his sleeve against his forehead, mopping at the gathering sweat and frowning at the dark smear he left on his white cotton shirt.

“Are you planning on working today, John Wayne? Or are you going to leave all the back-breaking labor to me?”

The scientist’s whine carried the twenty yards or so over the farm field, and John scowled. He looked over the rows of green leafy plants to where McKay was sitting on an upturned bucket in between two rows, his feet crushing one of the plants.

“Stop calling me that,” John said, scowling. “You’re the one sitting on the job! And killing the crops with your boots, I might add.”

“I have been working my ass off in this damn field, waiting for the Pegasus Galaxy’s very own Jesse James to show up, for six days now,” McKay replied as he jerked his feet out of the plant, ripping one of the leaves off in the process.

“You mean Frank James. Jesse James was the leader. Frank James was the brother—you know, right-hand man, evil enforcer. Frank James is the one visiting this world.” When McKay didn’t crack a smile, John sighed, taking his hat off for a moment to scratch his head. His collar was wet from sweating and clinging to his neck. “The man is intimidating these people into giving him and his gang three quarters of their crops, and that’s just on this planet,” he said, pulling the wide-brimmed hat back on. “Based on the intel we got from the Coalition, they’ve got a half dozen similar operations running on other worlds.”

Rodney sighed and pushed himself back to his feet. John could see the weariness in his teammate’s shoulders as he bent over to pick up his shovel, and he rolled his neck in sympathy. Clearing the dirt trenches between the rows of crops every day after the nightly irrigation flooding wasn’t exactly hard labor, but it was damn hot out here.

John wiped at his forehead again. “The village chief said he never stays away long. Frank James—or whatever his name is—”

“Oros.”

“Oros will show up, threaten us as the newest farmers in the area, we record the entire event, and then arrest him—wrap him up in a big red bow for the Coalition.”

“Brilliant plan,” McKay muttered.

“Wasn’t my idea, Rodney. The Coalition asked for our help and Woolsey sent us.”

He swung his shovel around and began clearing out the trench he was working on, scooping up the leaves and sticks that had washed into the field. The farmer they were borrowing the field from had been adamant that the fields be worked as rigorously as usual.

“I’m not real thrilled with the idea of facing the Dalton Gang without any weapons.”

 _Dalton Gang?_ John smiled, turning back toward McKay. _Had he finally found the subject McKay was less than expert in?_ He opened his mouth to educate the other man on the more famous criminals of the western frontier, but before he could say anything, McKay stuck his finger in the air.

“And by weapons, I mean guns.”

“That’s why Ronon and Teyla are watching the town—”

“Village.”

“—will chat him up at the saloon to let him know about the _new guys,_ and then hightail it over here to back us up.”

“Saloon? Please. You really are living in a western, aren’t you?”

“Would you prefer _café_?”

“I’d _prefer_ a gun. Farmers carry guns—especially farmers in the Wraith-infested Pegasus Galaxy. I don’t think our friend Oros will just turn around and run back to the gate the second he sees us with guns. We’ll still get the threats and intimidations the Coalition wants.”

“Or he’ll just shoot us. If we want him to threaten us quickly, we’ve got to look as unassuming as possible. Ronon and Teyla will have our backs. You just be ready with that recorder.”

“I’ve got it,” McKay snapped.

John turned back to his row, spotting a particularly large stone a few feet ahead of him, and scooped it up. With a flick of his wrist, he flung it over the fence forty yards away. He nodded with satisfaction as it landed in the center of the road. As he turned, he caught McKay staring at him with a glare.

“What?”

“That’s just going to wash back onto the field, eventually, and then we’ll have to shovel it out again.”

John dropped his head, feeling a headache begin to thump behind his eyes. “McKay, for the love of—”

“Can’t we at least shove a gun in our waistbands or something?” McKay asked, loudly, as he hopped over the rows of alien lettuce. “We could hide them under our shirts.”

“Hide them…” John shook his head. “Is your loss of intelligence related to the heat or the manual labor?”

“Both,” McKay snapped, then froze as he realized what he’d just said. “I mean, neither. I’m not…There is _nothing_ wrong with my intelligence.”

“You don’t go shoving loaded weapons down your pants, McKay. Not in real life. Stick it in the back of your waistband, and you’ll shoot yourself in the ass. Shove it down the front and you can kiss your two best friends goodbye.”

“Mature, Sheppard. Very, very—”

“ _Colonel Sheppard, Oros has arrived. Ronon is informing him of your recent arrival and purchase of a farm field. We will come to your location through the forest path as soon as he heads your way._ ”

John tapped his radio. “Understood. Watch yourselves.”

“ _And you as well. He is armed—a long knife and a handgun similar in design to Genii weaponry._ ”

He turned over to McKay, but the scientist had heard the entire exchange and was now gripping his shovel with white knuckles.

“It’s just one guy, McKay. Relax,” John said, but he could feel tension rippling through his shoulders and a jolt of adrenaline flipping his stomach. _Just one bad-ass, armed enforcer the size of Ronon._ He smiled in an attempt to feign indifference and scooped up a shovel full of debris—sticks, leaves, rocks, and probably too much dirt. Their farmer friend had complained last night that they were shoveling too much soil off his field, but now that Oros had showed up, maybe their days as Farmer John and Farmer Rodney were over.

McKay grabbed his wheelbarrow and bucket, and moved it down the trench, closer to John’s. John glanced up and spotted a dark figure walking down the road toward them. It was too far away to distinguish features, but it was clearly not Ronon or Teyla, nor any of the other villagers they had met so far.

“That must be Oros. Act casual,” John whispered.

McKay sputtered. “What? Act casual? Are you—”

“Ssshhh,” John hissed, he moved down the row a little and continued shoveling debris into his wheelbarrow. After a moment’s pause, he heard McKay do the same, though he noticed the scientist sticking close to him.

It took Oros at least twenty minutes to reach them. Sweat soaked into John’s t-shirt as he shoveled, and he forced himself to concentrate on the work in front of him. McKay was breathing hard next to him, but John knew that had more to do with the impending confrontation than the physical labor he was engaged in. Oros wouldn’t see that, though. He’d just see two tired, sweaty farmers.

“My God, he really is Jesse James,” McKay whispered, standing up and sliding next to John.

John straightened as well and studied the man approaching them. Oros had turned off the road and was picking his way toward them across the fields. He was dressed all in black—black pants, black button-up shirt, black wide-brimmed hat. He had a thin mustache over his lip and a thick brown belt hanging on his hips, both the knife and Genii handgun clearly visible.

“Frank James,” John corrected and almost smiled at the huff of air next to him, knowing McKay was rolling his eyes at him. “Howdy, stranger,” he called out, turning his attention back to Oros.

“Are you kidding me?” McKay muttered under his breath.

“Hail, friends,” Oros called out, raising an arm in greeting. John and McKay stood still, shovels in hand, and Oros paused in front of them. He was well out of shovel swinging range. He hooked his thumbs into his belt, his left hand dangerously close to his gun.

“What brings you this way?” John asked, forcing himself to smile. His back and shoulders were tensing up and he took a deep breath to relax. _Stay calm,_ he thought. _Look relaxed. You’re just a farmer working his field._

“Just passing through,” Oros answered. “You new around here?” He stared at them, looking anything but friendly. McKay shifted from foot to foot next to John, anxiety bleeding out of him.

“We are. Our world was hit by the Wraith but we managed to escape. The people here gave us this piece of land to work.”

Oros stared at them, unblinking, and John wondered if there was something more he was supposed to say.

“That was kind of them,” Oros finally said.

“It was,” John agreed, nodding. “They’re good people here, took us in when we had nothing.”

Oros nodded. His gaze slid toward McKay and he jerked his chin in his direction. “How about your friend? He have anything to say?”

“He doesn’t really talk,” John said quickly, raising his voice over the strangled sound coming from McKay next to him. “Kind of mumbles sometimes, but it’s usually not comprehensible. You from around here?”

McKay was breathing fast next to him, and John’s mouth twitched. McKay was going to light into him later on for that comment. Oros nodded again and walked slowly around them in a wide circle. He stared out across the farm field they were working, the palms of his hands resting lightly on his weapons.

“I’m just a visitor,” he finally said. “Stop in now and again to see how my friends here are doing.” He smiled, but it was more a thin stretching of his lips than an actual smile. “You familiar with the laws of this world?”

He threw it out casually, but John saw his stance straighten and his muscles tense, and John’s own muscles mimicked the other man’s reaction. He took a deep breath before answering. “Not sure what laws you mean,” John replied carefully. _This is it,_ he thought.

“This is a nice world, nice people, but it’s not without its dangers. Crops go missing in the middle of the night, fields get destroyed, people get hurt.”

“That so?”

“The only way to deal with it is to stick together. Strength in numbers.”

“Well, there’s two of us,” John said, jabbing his thumb at McKay. “He might not say much, but he can swing a shovel easily enough.”

McKay groaned, a low painful sound. Oros narrowed his eyes at McKay, then looked back at John. “It’ll take more than that.”

“What are you saying, exactly?”

“I look out for my friends. I’m offering you my friendship—you take care of us, we’ll take care of you. Make sure no accidents happen on your farm.”

“Ah, I see,” John said, scratching the back of his neck. “You protect us and we… do what exactly?”

“Everyone needs to eat. You give us a percentage of your crop. That’s it.”

McKay moaned again, and John glanced over at him in time to seem him snap his jaw shut, his face turning red.

“I think we’ll pass, thanks.”

“It’s a reasonable offer,” Oros said, his eyes trained on McKay’s visible effort to keep silent.

“I’ve tried being reasonable,” John said, smirking. “I didn’t like it.”

Oros went rigid, his eyes flashing. “You’re awfully funny for a man who just lost his home to the Wraith.”

“I’ve been called a lot of things, but never funny.”

Oros sighed and turned away. McKay took the opportunity to hiss into John’s ear. “Will you quit it with the Clint Eastwood quotes, John Wayne?”

“Things work a certain way around here, farmer,” Oros said, turning back toward them. McKay jerked back, tightening his grip on his shovel. “Your friend looks a little nervous.”

“He’s not big into guns. Or threats.”

Oros moved quickly, running forward and punching McKay in the chest before John could bring his shovel up or move to defend him. McKay flew backward, tripping on a row of lettuce plants and falling flat on his back in the dirt. His shovel clattered to the side and he let out a pained grunt. John stepped toward Oros, then froze when a gun suddenly appeared in his face.

“You want to live on this farm in peace, you pay—three-fourths of your harvest. Anything less than that and you wake up bloody. Maybe your mute friend here doesn’t wake up at all.”

“And here I thought I was in a western,” John said, smacking his forehead with the palm of his hand. “This isn’t a western. It’s a mobster movie! See, my friend here wanted to call you Jesse James and I kept telling him you were Frank, but now I’m thinking Don Corleone. Well, maybe Fredo. Or Sonny. Got a little Sonny in you, Oros?”

Confusion flickered across Oros’s face and John threw his shovel to the side, drawing Oros’s attention toward the falling farm instrument. He swung his other hand around and ducked to the side, out of the line of fire. Within seconds, he had twisted the gun away from him, pinching a nerve in Oros’s wrist. He heard Oros cry out in pain and surprise, and tightened his grip on the weapon. As the other man’s hand went lax around the gun hilt, John stepped in, shifting his weight and punching Oros in the throat.

Oros choked and stumbled backward, letting go of the gun as he fell and clutching his neck. John caught the weapon, and swung it around, feeling his nerves calm at the weight of the gun in his palm. Oros lay on the ground gasping, and John stepped forward, pointing the weapon.

“Say hello to my little friend.”

“Oh, God, just shoot me now,” McKay whined from behind him. “You are officially banned from movie night.”

“Too late for that,” John smirked. “You get all of that?”

McKay pulled the recorder out of his pocket and rewound it, then replayed Oros’s payment demands and threats. “That should be good enough for the Coalition.”

“What is this all about?” Oros demanded from the ground. He had stopped coughing, but his face was still red and he had yet to even attempt to sit up. McKay took advantage of the moment, pulling a plastic wrist tie out of his pocket and tightening it around the large man’s wrists.

“The Coalition has not taken too kindly to you and your gang running around, demanding people’s crops in exchange for your protection,” the scientist answered. “I foresee a trial in your near future.”

John stepped back, smiling. Adrenaline was rushing through, and he was having a hard time not bouncing on his feet from the elation of taking the other man down so quickly. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll make you an offer you can’t refuse.”

His smile grew at McKay’s audible groan and Oros’s deepening frown of confusion. It really should not be this much fun to throw Earth pop culture references at uninformed Pegasus natives.

“Where the hell are Teyla and Ronon anyway?” he asked. He lifted his shirt, jamming Oros’s gun into the waistband of his pants as he glanced around, searching the road and trees for any sign of his other two teammates.

A gunshot ripped through the air, the sound deafening. John blinked, registering first the sound and smell of a weapon discharge and then the fact that he was lying on his back, staring up at the sky. He didn’t remember falling, but the sound of the gun was still echoing loudly in his ears. The field was eerily quiet now. He blinked again, feeling the hilt of Oros’s weapon still in his hand, wedged into the waistband of his pants.

“What was that? What the hell was that?” McKay was screaming next to him, out of sight. “Oh my God, you’re bleeding. You’re…you…you shot yourself!”

McKay’s face appeared over his head, his face white with panic. “You said never shove a gun into your pants. I can’t believe you just did that. Where the hell are Teyla and Ronon? _Get the hell out here right now! Sheppard’s been shot!_ ”

Pain slammed into John, a burning agony high up on his leg. He felt McKay pull his hand away from the gun, and then the scientist was yelling at Oros to stay still, for Ronon and Teyla to hurry up, for John to not die. John felt a heavy pressure against the top of his leg as McKay leaned over him, and warm blood pumping into the seat of his pants. McKay was yelling again, but his voice wavered in and out, the sound incomprehensible. Darkness was creeping in at the edges of his vision, and with a final exhale, John surrendered to it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

“I’ll let you see him for a few minutes, but he’s not quite awake and aware yet.”

The voice floated over John, chasing away the fog. He heard a mumble of voices respond, the beep and hiss and click of machines around him, and then footsteps.

“Sheppard?”

That voice was close, near his face. John tried to turn toward it but frowned when he found himself unable to move or open his eyes. On the other side of the bed, he felt someone grab his hand, squeezing his fingers.

“John? Are you awake?”

It took a monumental effort to unglue his eyelids. Teyla’s face appeared above him, fuzzy and unfocused and recognizable only by her long brown hair.

“Hello,” she whispered, tightening her grip on his hand.

He swallowed, blinking his eyes to bring her back into focus. The pale blues and greens of Atlantis appeared behind her and he sucked in a deep breath. Atlantis. They were home. The last thing he recalled was standing out in a hot field with McKay, waiting for Oros to show up.

“How are you feeling?” Teyla asked.

John stared at her, hearing other people moving around. His entire body felt heavy and limp, but there was a muted drone of pain humming beneath the surface. He must be on some pretty hefty painkillers. He rolled his head across the pillow, scowling when that proved almost too difficult. McKay and Ronon stood next to him, their arms crossed and worry etched into their face.

“You almost bled to death,” McKay said.

“What?” John rasped. He stopped, swallowing. _What happened?_ He didn’t remember bleeding. He remembered Oros, though, suddenly. Frank James. No. _Mobster._ He remembered disarming the larger man fairly easily while McKay taped all of his threats and demands. They’d gotten everything they needed for the Coalition.

McKay’s eyes flickered to John’s waist, and the muffled pain intensified. John’s eyes widened at the memory. He had disarmed Oros and then…he didn’t remember being shot, but he remembered the sound of it, the pain, the feeling of blood running between his legs.

The monitor behind him picked up its pace, echoing his panic. Dear God, had he shot himself in the… He grabbed at the blanket and struggled to sit up, feeling his chest constrict in a vain attempt to pull in oxygen that suddenly seemed to disappear on him.

“What…where…Did I…?”

His arms flailed, and he groaned at his lack of coordination. His team jumped forward, grabbing his arms and legs. Teyla and Ronon seemed to be trying to keep him still, while McKay was tugging on his arm to help him up. Pain spiked in his leg near the top of his thigh and he whimpered.

“John, what is wrong?” Teyla called out.

“I shot…I shot…”

“Sheppard, it’s okay. You’re okay,” McKay spoke fast. “Your…um…your two best friends are…still…uh…” He waved his hand vaguely over him. “There.”

John’s heart pounded against his ribs, and he could hear a rhythmic rushing with each beat in his ears. In the struggle, the nasal cannula had slipped and caught in his mouth. He felt Teyla’s hand on his back, keeping him upright while she adjusted it back under his nose. John breathed in deeply, reveling in the extra oxygen and willed his heart to slow its frantic pace. He felt the hand on his back rubbing in slow, soothing circles.

“It is alright, John. You will be fine,” she whispered.

“What?” he whispered. He was sagging into her and McKay’s grip, his brief influx of energy oozing out of him. They eased him back onto the bed and John closed his eyes against a sudden sense of lightheadedness.

“The bullet grazed the top of your leg,” Teyla said. “The wound was long and relatively deep, but it missed the bone. Jennifer said you will recover completely.”

He nodded, feeling his teammates pull away. What the hell had compelled him to shove a loaded weapon down his pants? Right after telling McKay how stupid that would be? His face flushed red and he squirmed, wincing in pain. He could feel the bandage now running the length of his thigh, the tape pulling against the hair on his leg. He glanced at McKay, who’s eyes kept flickering to his… _leg_ , then Ronon, who looked perplexed.

Ronon met his gaze and folded his arms. “Who are your two best friends?”

McKay coughed, his face turning a bright shade of pink.

“What?” John croaked.

“McKay said your two best friends are still here. Did you think you’d shot us?” he asked, pointing at himself and McKay.

“Um…” John swallowed, hearing the heart monitor— _damn that machine_ —pick up its pace as beads of sweat broke out across his forehead.

“Do you not consider me a best friend as well?” Teyla asked, sounding a little hurt and put out.

McKay let out a strangled moan, drawing Ronon and Teyla’s attention away from John for a moment.

“What’s wrong with you?” Ronon asked, slapping McKay on the back and inciting a coughing fit from the scientist.

The heart monitor was beeping rapidly, not that John could have hidden his discomfort without it. His face was flushed red, the heat stifling to the point where he was starting to feel a little nauseous.

Keller skidded around the corner, taking in all the screens and John’s appearance in a glance. “What’s going on?” she asked, her attention focused on the treacherous heart monitor. She moved to John’s side, taking Teyla’s place and grabbing John’s wrist.

“What are you feeling? Are you in pain?”

“Pain, yes,” John wheezed out. “Hurts…tired…pain…”

Keller nodded, scowling at John’s teammates. “I said you could come see him for a few minutes, not get him all riled up. Rodney, are you alright?”

“Fine, I’m fine, have to go, see you later,” McKay mumbled, still hunched over. He pushed his way past Ronon before anyone could say anything else and disappeared out of the infirmary.

“What?” Ronon asked. Teyla had moved next to him and she shook her head in confusion.

John felt an increase of air flood through the nasal cannula as the doctor adjusted something behind him, and he sucked in a deep breath.

“Just relax, Colonel,” she said, pulling a syringe out of his pocket and injecting it into the IV port. Cold liquid raced up John’s arm, chasing back the heat in his face and neck. He felt his eyes droop almost immediately as the pain in his leg grew dull.

“Get some rest,” Teyla said, patting his knee.

“Later, Sheppard,” Ronon added.

The two of them stepped away from the bed, but as Ronon turned away he froze, tilting his head. He turned back toward to John, the beginning of a smile tugging at his lips. “Did you mean…”

John closed his eyes, blocking out the rest of the world and sinking as fast as he possibly could into the haze of drugs and sleep beckoning him.

END


End file.
